


Calling Down the Moon

by Eros_Scribens



Category: Amores - Ovid, Greek and Roman Mythology, Metamorphoses - Ovid
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Femdom, Large Penis, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sex Magic, Spells & Enchantments, binding spell, dubcon, i use dubcon for all love spells, i use dubcon for all mortal/divine ships, supernaturally enhanced penises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 20:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3223097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eros_Scribens/pseuds/Eros_Scribens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erichtho puts a love spell on Priapus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calling Down the Moon

            It started as trade-talk between witches.  Love spells were all the rage these days; all the witches wanted to sell the best ones.  Should it be the old standby, a strand of the spell-target’s hair enclosed in a lead tablet engraved with a binding spell and buried by a well or stream?  Should the hair instead be made as part of a doll?  Or should it be a potion?  Amidst all the chattering and then bickering, aged Erichtho sat quietly in her corner, spinning wool thread.  But when the bickering turned into shouting and accusations of “Fraud!” and “You couldn’t make a potion if the pot stirred itself,” Erichtho rose and spat in a low but piercing voice, “Enough!”

            The room fell as silent as the night sky before the Titan Saturn first awakened.  It had been long since Erichtho had spoken in the gathering of witches.  Long since any had seen her do the simplest charm, or do anything besides sit and spin.  But no one was foolish enough to think her a senile halfwit.  Her feats in magic were so dreadful that they were only spoken of in whispers, after checking to make sure that children were well away.  She had killed a mighty king with only a glance of her eye, they said.  She had once worked a charm that turned a grown man into a small girl-child.  She had, alone, caused two entire armies to be paralyzed and unable to fight a battle for twelve hours, just because the noise of battle might upset another charm she was simultaneously working on.  It was not conjecture, but certainty, that she could bind the hearts of everyone in the room and make them stop beating.

            “Enough,” said Erichtho again.  “All of you with your pitiful charms and potion—all of you can barely make a horny young boy look at a homely girl.  You are useless!  Do you want real sorcery, real love magic?  I swear that I can bind a god and make him love me, that I can change my form back to that of a maiden; I will rob a very god of his will and make him my slave, panting along after me like a dog with his cock for a leash.  I will bear a child to this god, and it will be a son more fierce and fell than any god on Olympus.  No power on earth or in the heavens can stop me, or will want to.”

            Only the most foolish of mortals could make such a boast—or dread Erichtho.  All knew the story of Ariadne, turned into a spider because she had said she could spin better than Minerva.  But Erichtho—if she had been a master weaver instead of a witch, she would have won that contest.

            Only a god can bind one of the mighty Twelve who sit in thrones on Olympus.  But the Twelve are not the only gods; and Erichtho could easily bind one of the second tier.  And thus she chose to bind Priapus.  She melted lead and cast it as a twenty-sided tablet, and wrote her curse upon it with a silver nail, writing it backwards in lines of ancient characters.  None but her ever knew what the words of the spell were; its power was so great that if any other mortal than Erichtho were to see it, they would lapse into eternal madness.  Then, Erichtho folded the tablet around the foreskin of a priest of Priapus, cut off when the man was three days dead, because she could not obtain a hair of the god.

            Then, at midnight, she buried the binding spell in a secret ravine known only to her, where the Styx flows out into the world of men, since the Styx has power to bind even the lightning god, if he swears by it.  With this deed done, Erictho called down the moon itself: Turning a spindle, she walked counterclockwise while chanting in a mystic tongue.  And the moon grew larger and larger as it came down to the earth, so near that a blinding sphere of white light filled Erichtho’s ravine—and thus her terrible spell was complete.

           Priapus, meanwhile, was in a tower on Olympus, enjoying the company of Zeus’ mortal cupbearer Ganymede.  Possessing stamina beyond even that of most Olympians, he had fucked Ganymede up the butt three times and was going for a fourth, when he was suddenly enveloped by a new level of agonizing desire, and not for the pretty boy in front of him, going miles beyond even his usual appetites as God of Erections.  (Erichtho had cheated a little.)  Priapus tried his best to quench his new desire, and fucked Ganymede harder than ever before, but the agonizing need grew worse with every touch, and orgasm, instead of providing relief, multiplied the agony threefold.  At last, he tried resting his perpetually erect dick on the tower’s cool stone windowsills, hoping to at least numb it a little, and noticed that at one windowsill, but nowhere else, where the view showed the setting moon sinking fast down towards the sea, the burning eased ever so slightly.  He stared at the descending moon, and at his own invisibly tormented cock, and something clicked.

            “I don’t know how,” he said to Ganymede, “but I’ve been bound.  Someone or something has figured out how to put a spell on a god.  I must go see what this thing is—if only because if it is as I think, the agony may decrease as I approach the source.”

            “And what are you going to do when you find the source?” asked Ganymede.

            “Given the nature of this spell,” replied Priapus, strapping on his winged sandals, “probably fuck it.”  And he launched himself out of the window into the night sky.

            Using his cock as a sort of compass needle, Priapus flew through the air in search of the power that was binding him.  It was an odd sensation: as he got closer to the spell’s source, the agony in his cock decreased, and yet somehow the need to fuck whatever it was that he was bound to increased.  And so he flew, angling his signature perpetual hard-on like a weathervane in a gale.  Thus Erichtho first saw him: A tall, well-muscled, naked man with giant wings flapping from the sandals on his feet and bearing him aloft, with a hardened, dripping cock the size of a child’s arm and engorged balls the size of her own fists.

            Erichtho had put on a spell to make her appear as a young woman; that much Priapus could tell, that her form was fake, but so great was her power that Priapus, although he was a god, could not see through her false form.  This did not matter.  There was only one mortal who had such great powers—so great that many of the gods thought she might be descended from one of them—Erichtho.

            Priapus flew down into Erichtho’s ravine, almost forgetting to take off his winged sandals when he landed, so great was his need.  The witch was lying on the bank of the Styx-streamlet, legs spread wide to expose her lower maw, and Priapus at once plunged his burning, engorged cock into the cool wellspring of her cunt.

            The relief and the pleasure were indescribable.  Priapus thought he would explode at once, but soon realized that something was preventing him from climaxing.  Of course! Erichtho had wrought the spell so that he could not come before she did.  Priapus slipped his hand down between their bodies and began rubbing Erichtho’s clit and labia, which, he noticed, were very large and wet.  Immediately the witch’s legs wrapped more tightly around his back, and the rate of her thrusting increased.  Priapus was already past the point where he should have orgasmed; now, he was taken to a height of pleasure beyond what he had ever experience in his long, perpetually horny life.  It was as if he was having the biggest orgasm of his life, only without the ejaculation; his penis was spasming but nothing was coming out, the pleasure and agony just built more and more and more.  He could feel every cell in his penis and balls screaming for release and hoping it would never end, and he thrust faster and faster while still rubbing Erichtho’s clit.

            Erichtho’s cunt was totally filled by Priapus’ enormous cock.  His first, eager thrusts had been almost painful, despite the unguents she had smeared all over her crotch, but as soon as Priapus started rubbing her clit, it was nothing but mounting pleasure.  He had excellent technique (how could he not, he’d had thousands of lovers over the centuries), and Erichtho had to pace herself not to thrust too hard and reach her release and Priapus’ too soon.  She envisioned the fires that raged within his staff, how the mingled extreme pleasure and pain were breaking his mind in perfectly exquisite torture.  But this thought only made her more eager, and then Priapus’ powerful thrusts and titillating fingers pushed her over the edge, and her entire body shuddered as she squirted fluid all over herself and Priapus.

            Priapus felt a magical knot around his testicles untie, and then his cock was gripped by the earthshaking waves of Erichtho’s orgasm.  Past ready to explode, his cock and balls erupted, sending wave after wave of semen into Erichtho’s vagina until her womb was entirely filled by his sticky cum.  His entire crotch felt simultaneously bathed in fire and ice, and he felt dizzy and saw the births of galaxies behind his closed eyelids.  And several minutes later, as his last explosion of cum finally ended, he felt the knots of the spell tighten again.

            “Oh now,” said Erichtho, “You didn’t expect me to let you go after just one round?”

**Author's Note:**

> A prosaicization of another part of De Origine Sexualitatis. The downside of prose is that you have to have a reason for people to screw; if you're writing in the Ovidian para-epic tradition, they can just sort of be divinely ordained to screw/Eros can just decide to hit people with arrows for no good reason. But I'm including this to show that I can write sex scenes in prose as well as verse.  
> Oh, and if you think the "penis compass" is weird, you should see the verse version. I had a full-on Vergilian ecphrasis going on there.  
> All depictions of Greco-Roman love magic and binding spells are accurate (other than the part with the foreskin; hair or clothing was usually used), if a little conflated. Nobody in "historical" accounts draws down the moon and writes a binding spell on a lead tablet for the same spell. But this is Erichtho, the big bad archetypical witch. Of course she's going to do all that, for dramatic effect.


End file.
